Heartless
by everlastingtwilight1
Summary: Perhaps it was the screams of the children as she slaughtered their parents, or even the deafening shrieks of the latest  victim who was subject to her own personal torture that  made Freya Yearn so heartless. To her, pain was her favorite drug.


Perhaps it was the screams of the children as she slaughtered their parents, or even the deafening shrieks of the latest victim who was subject to her own personal torture that made Freya Yearn so heartless. To her, pain was her favorite drug, something she craved and enjoyed to the fullest extent. Of course, Freya was not always this sadistic. A young adult with hopes and dreams, shattered and undone by one measly incident.  
Freya was born in Stormwind and was kept under the watchful eye of her father, James. Lila, her mother, supposedly left when she was just a babe. This missing piece in her heart tore away mercilessly, consuming her in her younger years.  
Her father was a lean man, sturdy and broad. His muscular arms and well toned body made up for his lack of intellect. Freya seriously doubted that he actually possessed the brain of an adult. Nonetheless, he was kind and compassionate toward Freya and everyone else for that matter. His strength and peaceful nature would swoon any maiden, including catching the eye of Karen West, a fair haired woman with chubby cheeks and a wide, toothy grin. Unfortunately, Karen had already bore two children, Emily and Sav. Freya despised Sav for he was reckless and headstrong, but Emily was a true sister to her. They shared secrets and played tea in the courtyard of their small home.  
Though she would never admit it, Freya took pleasure in knowing that her looks favored her mother. Though her father would laugh at her image, saying it was more of tom-boyish version of the original. Shrugging it off, she would continue to imagine a woman with the same features; a heart shaped face with curly brown locks framing her face. Black, long eye lashes that fanned her startling blue eyes. A peachy skin color that coated her muscular body figure.  
It were these features that made Freya closer to her mother, where ever she was.  
Freya was also interested in the use of arcane magic, and she found that living in Mage quarter sated this thirst for knowledge. By the time she was thirteen, she stumbled apon a old man will to teach her the ways of arcane. Her mentor, Flinn Pire the 3rd, was not a kind man, nor had a lot of patience. Though, he was an talented Mage, and well respected throughout Stormwind and perhaps Dalaran.  
Magic seemed to radiate off of him. Wrinkles buried deep into his saggy face with long, white silky hair that rolled over his shoulders. He had a little bit of a limp, using his mighty staff to help straighten his posture. Enchanted purple robes with intricate gold patterns fit snuggly over his thin figure.

Though as harsh and verbally abusive as he was, he taught her what she needed to know. He never praised her on anything she ever accomplish, even when she froze a cat and a block of ice.  
"Focus, your aim is a bit off. Do you ever even hear what I am telling you, or you just as an imbecile like your father?" He scoffed.  
That hurt, more than it should have. Tear stung her eyes, and she blindly aimed at her mentor. The fire-bolt was small, and made that way to inflict little damage. He dodged the bolt, letting it scorch a stack of papers behind him. Freya squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the impact of a smack or any type of punishment for attacking him.  
"Very well, it seems you have been working on your fire-bolts . You are dismissed." he waved his hand, turning back to his book. She stood there with shock, not knowing if he was impressed or downright furious. Noticing she wasn't heading for the door, he said, "Are you daft? I said leave. Come back tomorrow." she obeyed.  
On her way home, she couldn't help but spill a few tears, wetting her apprentice robes. Unfortunately, the person who had to notice her unusual sadness was Christopher Seg, a short stubby kid with blonde hair and warm, brown eyes. He found a liking for Freya, but it truth, she despaired him. Christopher was easy to manipulate, and did her bidding for something stupid, like a small peck on the cheek or a hug. To her surprise, he was mad as well, not even saying hello when she passed by. Even Christopher was cold today.  
It bothered her to shrug it off, not knowing what made Chris angry. She ran back, thinking she could catch up to him by the time he reach the Mage tower.  
As usual, Chris was in his small bench on he side of the Mage tower. A book was held to a chest, and he clung on to it for dear life. Freya slowly walked up to him and slid down beside him. She hadn't notice tears stream down his cheek the first time he pasted her.  
Biting her lip, she asked, "What is wrong?" Her voice was timid, not shore what else to ask. Silence was her answer.  
"Christopher, what is wrong... please tell me?" She asked again.  
He slowly lifted his round head and stared into her eyes. His cheeks were puffy and he stifled back a sob.  
Unconsciously his hand slid from his lap onto the stone bench. Contemplating the reaction from him, she carefully grasped his hand, squeezing it. It was her small gesture that everything was going to be okay. He didn't pull away.  
Freya felt something flutter in her stomach, she had never been so close to a boy before, let alone hold his hand. She had no romantic feeling for Christopher, but this was an experiment.  
Scooting in closer beside him, she pulled him into a embrace. He sobbed into her chest, soaking her robes with his sad tears. Once the crying had dissipated, she slowly pulled away from her warm embrace. Not even turning back to her for an explanation, he got up and left, leaving Freya out in the cool moonlight. He never did tell her what was the problem.

Eight years later, Flinn Pire the 3rd had been pronounced dead after suffering of a year of a terrible bone cancer, leaving him crippled. As he took his last dying breath, Freya, now 21, gently leaned her ear next to his lips as he whispered soft words. Grasping her hand, he apologized for the cruelty and abuse he had put her through. He left her everything; work, house, his pet cat. Tears rolled down her cheeks as his voice lowered and his gazed lifelessly at the ceiling. His death stirred something in her like a lost memory.  
In a timid voice, she called the nurse back in, asking her to take care of him. The nurse solemnly nodded her eyes full of sadness as well. After placing the linen sheet over his pale face, she fled the room.  
Downstairs, Marcia waited calmly for any news. Her curly brown hair was pulled into a small bun, exposing her long neck. She A new scar formed over her shoulder, a reminder that the enemy is never off guard. Her body slumped in the chair. How long was this 'apprentice' going to be?  
In the corner of her eye, she saw the apprentice at the foot of the staircase. Her tear stained cheeks were not a unusual sight, but her eyes showed a mixed emotion. Marcia had a hard time distinguishing is she was relieved, terrified, or sad, maybe even all three.  
"He's dead, Marcie, your father is dead." Her wisher was barely audible. Marcia grimaced; irritated she pronounced her name wrong. Honestly, she didn't care if her father was dead or alive. He didn't love her, and proved that everyday of her life time. The hurt he had put her through deserved no forgiveness.  
To Freya's surprise, Marcia smiled, baring her pearly whites. Her stride was confident heading towards the door, leaving a note by the desk next to it.  
Freya hasty reached for the note, expecting a terrible heartless letter about Marcia's father. Her conscious screamed to burn the letter in the fire place, but her curiosity overwhelmed her. The note was blotchy with ink and many parts were crossed out, leaving Freya to comprehend a series of meaningless words into full sentences. Though some parts were illegible, she understood the just of the letter; sorry you had to die, but I hate you. It was a terrible letter, filled with curse words and hope for death.  
Sincerely, Your daughter.  
PS. Despite all of this, I've always found it in my heart to love you. I'm glad your dead.

A new found rage burned inside Freya. How could she say all these hateful words and wish for him to die, and then say I love you like nothing happened! And she smiled as she walked out the door. Marcia Peir was a bitch, no doubt about it. At least she would never show her face around here again.

Freya found herself growing accustomed to living in her mentor's old home. It was cozy, and very simple. Upon entering the household, a visitor would notice the handmade fireplace directly to the left of them, and two leather seats hugging either side. To the right, a desk was conviet located, and books covered every area. The kitchen was modest; made for making meals like soup or loaves of bread. The cupboard and countertops were finely sanded, and had intricate patterns painted on to them. Freya awed at the uniqueness of them. Next to the kitchen was a tiny washroom, perfect for quick showers and breaks.  
Across the kitchen and bathroom, a single bedroom with white washed walls and a large bed placed in the center of the north wall. The bed took up most of the room, yet there was enough space to place a nightstand on both sides of the bed, and a vanity on the opposite side. It was plain, and Feeya hated it. When furnishing the room, she couldn't bring herself to placing anything owned by her mentor, for it would disturb her. She felt like a trespasser every time she slipped on her nightgown and slid under the covers. Only exhaustion would shut out those thoughts.  
Out of every visitor she had, someone said their condolences but had hidden thoughts about the subject. Giving her his house, little whore? They would not dare to admit it, but she could see it in their eyes. One fellow, however did not judge her whatsoever. His name with Christopher Seg, the formally pudgy boy she knew as a child, was now a handsome paladin. Holiness ran through his blood, making him almost glow, or maybe that was the armor. Shinning or not, he was still a attractive fellow, growing out of his awkward boyish body into a muscular, chiseled form. Christopher would visit very often, if not everyday, to comfort Freya. She enjoyed his presence, and hopped he never stopped visiting her. He gave her feelings no one else had; warmth, comfort, love. Love, Freya was afraid of that word. Christopher seemed more then willing to love her, though she always denied these. It was too soon, she had her whole life ahead of her.  
Plans, Freya had to make plans. Her first though was to continue to Dalaran in Northrend, but it was much too far. What did she have to miss here? Christopher, a voice echoed in her mind.  
"Freya! Open the door, you have got to come see this!" Speak of the devil. A fist pounded on the door. Freya, shocked, scurried towards the maple door. Jerking the door open, she discovered Christopher with a toothy grin, his face amazed.  
Slowly, his voiced eased, "Oh good, I got your attention. Now, are you busy? I hope not. It's at Jerry's property in the barn 'couple blocks down. He is hosting a party, to celebrate, well, he's a dwarf. This must be some excuse to drink without embarrassment." he indicated west. "I was wondering if you would like to come with me? It will be fun." His eyes were full of hope, praying not to be rejected. As exiting as a party is, Freya knew that Christopher was trying to coax her out of the house. How subtle? Somewhere in her mind whispered to denied him, but her emotions told her otherwise.  
A gentle smile slid across her face, "Yes, I would like to go." she accepted his outstretched hand. His skin was soft and warm, and Freya blushed.  
Along the way, Christopher began murmuring some inaudible words to her. Though the walk had mostly been silent, she carefully spoke, "So, Christopher, how have training been going?"  
He shrugged, "It has been well, and though I believe I will be stationed in guarding the stockades for awhile. Those bandits are not too demanding, you just have to show them who's boss. You?"  
Her cheeks flushed, she has done nothing important over the last month or two. "I've done nothing too exciting, especially nothing as heroic as you. Archmage Garrett Sunridder has agreed to continue to train me in the ways of a Mage."  
He smiled a toothy grin, "The high elf? And a Archmage? I would consider yourself lucky." he paused, looking for the right words.  
Noticing his struggle, Freya mused, "Cat got your tongue? Spit it out."  
Christopher took a long, exasperated sigh, "Do you know what it's like to be in love?"  
"Wha-What?" she stuttered. Was he implying... Oh my!  
"Never mind." He quickly pushed the thoughts away from his mind.

Once they arrived, they were immediately greeted by two tall women; both blonde with low cut tops and tight bottoms. They both seemed to take an interest in Christopher, which angered Freya. She scowled and turned her head away from the whores flirting with her 'companion'.  
"I'm sorry ladies, I am afraid I am too busy to attend to you." He walked off in the other direction, Freya still clutching to his arm. The two blondes sat dumbfounded at his rejection. He merely chuckled, as if he could read their minds. Freya was in shock as well, giving up a night of two whores. A smile crept across her face; he chose me over them, she thought. 


End file.
